The Last Rose of Summer
by CanvasWonder
Summary: For all the bad things he'd done in his life, Dean couldn't figure out how he earned the right to hold Heaven in his arms.


Dean wasn't sure what about his daughter enchanted him the most, but on this particular day it was her hands.

Pale fingers no wider than colored pencils, and fingernails just a centimeter wider than a grain of rice; chubby palms, creased from the constant fists she seemed to make. Those little hands, the ones Sam had dipped in paint and flattened out on a piece of paper when she was born– a piece of paper Dean had tucked away in the glove box of the Impala – were the same little hands that curled around his fingers, and curiously probed at his face when he bent over her to kiss her goodnight.

Dean pressed a kiss to the back of one of his daughter's hands where it gripped the collar of his shirt, making a face as she drooled happily against his shoulder and gargled in that strange baby language of hers. The store was ridiculously crowded, and he was struggling to navigate his cart through the crowd one handed, but it was worth it to have his daughter out of the pumpkin-seat that she hated so much; she wouldn't stop wailing when he put her in it.

"Alright, kid," Dean grunted, stopping in the aisle to carefully shift the girl so she was lying in the crook of his arm before he began to move forward once more. "We're on a mission- no funny business, got it?"

The baby gurgled up at Dean, shoving a delicate fist in her mouth and sucking.

"Good enough," The hunter shook his head as he turned into the infant department and awkwardly rolled to a stop near the stupidly pink racks of clothes meant for girls. He glanced down at the infant lying in his arm – at the calm white onesie and cap she'd been wearing for almost a week now, and the alarmingly soft yellow blanket she was wrapped in – and made a face.

Dean Winchester's daughter would never be dressed in anything _that_ pink.

Bouncing slightly as he moved to keep his little girl happy, he weaved his way in and out of the racks in search of something a little less… Anti-Winchester. There were a few outfits that didn't make him want to vomit rainbows and unicorns, but nothing that really caught his eye. Nothing that looked like it'd fit the kid, either.

"New dad?" Dean jumped, spinning and narrowly avoiding a collision with a clothes wrack as he faced the woman who'd appeared behind him. She flashed him a friendly smile, a diaper bag slung over one shoulder and a little boy perched on her hip, his head dropped on her shoulder and his eyes closed; sleeping.

"That obvious, huh?" Dean chuckled, nervously tucking the tail of his daughters blanket around her feet, making sure her toes weren't exposed to the cool air of the store.

"Considering you're looking for clothes in the two and plus section when you've got a newborn, yeah." She chuckled.

"The what?" Dean frowned, glancing around him.

"Two and plus; it's toddler clothes. You want some help finding the newborn stuff?" She offered and Dean dropped his head back with an exaggerated sigh.

"That'd be awesome, yeah." He nodded, and the woman chuckled, motioning him to follow her. He grabbed his cart and carefully navigated out of the pink maze, following his new acquaintance a few aisles down and into a much more serene maze of clothing; all calm greens, blues, yellows and _pastel_ pinks. Not to mention, smaller clothes; ones that looked more fit for the girl tucked into the crook of his arm.

"Now, how old is she?" The mother raised a brow, her son stirring on her hip before settling once more.

"A little over a week," Dean muttered, glancing fondly down at his girl. She stared back up at him, her eyes much too mature for her age, and gave a soft coo, as if saying hello.

"Really? I'm surprised you've got her out shopping, as young as she is." The mother blinked, and Dean stiffened, prepared to defend himself if he needed to, but the mother continued in a non-threatening direction. "There's no way Jake would have behaved long enough for me to get in a shopping trip at that age."

"Yeah, well, she's uh… Pretty well mannered," Dean shrugged, watching the mother across from him flip through the rack with a focused expression before motioning Dean to step forward. The hunter leaned over her shoulder, paying close attention as she explained the tags and the different ages to him, then showed him the selection of onesies he currently had to choose from. At the front of the row was a black onesie, Batman's sign printed in soft pink in the center; it came with pink socks, and a pink cap.

Dean dropped it in the cart without batting an eyelash at the price.

"Cute," The mom praised and Dean smirked, bouncing absentmindedly where he stood, hoping to keep his daughter on the edge of sleep, or push her into it.

"Are you a Batman fan…?" He trailed off, hoping for a name.

"Sarah," She supplied with a tip of her head. "And you are?"

"Dean," He introduced, stopping in his searching to examine a pale green onesie with white polka dots.

"Well, yes, Dean, I am indeed a Batman fan." She answered.

"Good woman," He praised, tossing the green onesie in the cart and pausing in his search to glance at Sarah over his shoulder. She was rubbing her sons back, staring at something across the store with a frown. Dean glanced up to find a tall woman with white hair motioning to Sarah with a scowl.

"Friend of yours?" He arched a brow and Sarah shrugged.

"Mom, actually." She sighed.

"She usually accompanies you and the tike on trips?" He pried. She shrugged, resituating her diaper bag on her shoulder and holding her son – Jake, right? – closer to her chest.

"Perks of being a teenage mom, I guess." She muttered, almost too quiet to hear. Dean blinked.

"You're kidding. You've got to be, what… Twenty three?" He guessed and she laughed, shaking her head, a blush crawling up her cheeks.

"Nineteen, actually." She informed, tucking her hair behind her ear. She was pretty, but not in the teenage kind of way Dean was used to seeing; she was all adult angels and expressions, with long blonde hair and hazel eyes. "I was seventeen when I had this little guy," She bounced Jake in her arms and he gave a sleepy grumble before settling again.

"Dad didn't stick around?" Dean guessed, and something painful flashed across Sarah's face before she nodded. Dean nodded as well, going back to his search, leaving them in silence.

"What happened to your wife?"

Dean stiffened, his hand clenching around a white onesie with a duckling in the center. He licked his lips, his eyes falling to the little body in his arm before he turned, watching Sarah. She was blushing, her eyes averted. "You've got a wedding ring, and no offence, but… You don't look like the kind of guy who would willingly go shopping for baby clothes… And you've just got the look, to be honest."

"The look?" Dean cleared his throat, letting go of the onesie and shifting his daughter, propping her against his chest, letting her little head rest on his shoulder as she slept, one hand spread protectively over her back and the other supporting her bottom.

"You know, the look people get when they've lost someone." She smiled, a little sadly. "Tired, curled in on themselves? Looking sad, even though they think they don't… Trust me, I've been there. Jake's dad died six months ago,"

"I'm sorry," Dean offered weakly.

"So am I," She shrugged, smiling a little.

From across the store, the white haired woman shouted and Sarah flinched.

"I got to go," She sighed, shifting Jake to her free arm and resituating the diaper bag to a more stable position against her back. "It was nice meeting you, Dean." She smiled, offering a shy wave, before she turned and began to weave her way through the aisles.

"Sarah!" The girl turned, and Dean smiled a little- a sad smile, on that didn't reach his eyes as he clutched his daughter closer, as if she could ward off the sadness. "You're right… I lost someone, and… Being without them, it… It hurts like Hell."

"You didn't lose them, Dean." Sarah frowned, shaking her head. "They're there, in everything… You just got to look for them."

And, with that, she was gone.

Dean shook his head, turning back to the racks, pushing through the clothes, trying his damndest not to think as he picked out a few more onesies; green, white, yellow, and orange- no more pink. The last one he chose was blue, and soft, meant for sleeping in; an owl was printed on the hip, small and sleepy.

Cas would've liked it.

Dean tossed the onesie in the cart, grabbing diapers, bottles, formula, and whatever else struck his fancy on the way out of the store. He blew three weeks worth of pool-hustling money at the register, throwing in a pack of gum for Sam among the baby stuff, and tucked his now sleeping little girl into her pumpkin-seat when they got back to car.

And if he shed a silent tear thinking of Cas on the drive home, and reached back to grab his blue-eyed girls hand when she woke up and began to cry with him, what did that matter?

* * *

_This is named after a song. Look it up, you'll know when you've found the right one. _

_There's more on the way! _

_-CCW_


End file.
